


Danse Macabre

by Just_Rocket_Science



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drabble, I have no idea how to tag, M/M, POV First Person, eldritch!ainur, kind of, this kind of turned into a character study, unhealthy relationships?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 12:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22710931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Rocket_Science/pseuds/Just_Rocket_Science
Summary: Melkor watches his Maia dance
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Kudos: 33





	Danse Macabre

**Author's Note:**

> *casually rips title straight from something else* 'sup yea im totally very original
> 
> Anyway have this short little thing which could probably count as a very strange valentines day fic,, right?

His feet beat a frenzied tattoo on the table, hammering the pulse of my Discord into the wood until the notes spilled out into the air alongside the flames that licked across his torso. The dance was a wild, feral thing that tore at his ëalar until he sobbed with wretched cries, but still, I could not bring myself to stop him. He spun around, faster and faster, body moving almost of its own volition. A pillar of flame was he, his separate limbs drawn into one twisted form that threw contorted, almost crystalline, shadows onto the walls. The reverberation of my Discord amplified until nothing but his rhythm and the music’s distorted screams existed, the notes shredding his fire into ribbons that burned into nothingness beneath my wings of radiant shadows. His inferno buckled under it all, and terror stabbed through me at the prospect of the savage frenzy of my full power’s weight crushing his pitiful flame, but he tossed his head back with a snarl, and I saw that his eyes still burned with a fever that refused to stand still, that danced with the fire of life. Just as I believed he would push through it all, his legs crumpled beneath him, and he plunged downwards, drowning in fatigue, clawing at the wood beneath him as though he could tear through the fabric of time and steal the energy that made the world tick steadily onwards. I gazed at him in morbid captivation, as one might observe the death of an animal. He pulled his head up, coughing, blood dripping from his mouth. He licked it away and tilted his head at me, gaze begging for a sign of sympathy, for the gentle nod of my head that would signify his release. I wanted to. I desperately wanted to help him. But I was locked in place, chained to the beauty of the dance, to how the fire of life, the thing I had craved since before the creation of time, was so completely and utterly _mine_. I gave him nothing. Distress flared in his eyes, but still, he dragged himself back up, letting go of the control his fragile mind relied upon as he could only do in my presence. Embers flickered across his now barely corporeal form, and, in return to the empty glass I offered him, he gave me everything. I was his God, his black sun. I deserved none of what he had sacrificed for me. I deserved none of the pain that he shouldered in my stead. Yet, I could do naught but watch him suffer, watch him wither and burn out as he tried with all his feeble power to warm my frozen ëalar, as he tried to staunch the tears of anger and feeling that I could not control, not as he could. I was weak. And so I watched, seemingly unmoving, as he tore and cut himself into shreds, as pain stifled his fire and anguish ripped apart his mind. It was beautiful. Pain and beauty so often go hand in hand. My Discord is like the eagles of my brother, swooping low in a striking display of exquisite skill, talons outstretched, only to strike the flesh of an innocent pigeon, only to send blood flowing in heated droplets through the sky. I keep the feather of such a creature in my pocket, always. I do not know why. My brother and I parted ways a long, long time ago. Perhaps it is to remind me of the only other person who showed me kindness, who showed me love, other than the dancer who tormented himself in front of me, who showed me that not all monsters are abhorrent. There was more blood, the golden ichor of the gods, surrounding him now. It stained my clothing, it coated the table in a slippery veneer that sent him struggling in desperation to retain his balance. His fire, his body, twisted into frantic shapes that threw growls of suffering against the walls, and as he arched his back, letting streams of a torrid blaze streak across himself to fling the shadowed shape of a deformed demon scraping against the wall, I heard his bones snap and shatter, in tune with the destruction of his ëalar and the roaring thump of my Discord against my ears. Still, he did not shake nor waver, but danced on, letting the pain guide his limbs and flow through him until his fiery eyes glistened with hatred at the frailty of his own body, until it was not just the music tearing at him but his own claws. I longed to grab his hands, pull him away from himself, to tell him that he was strong, stronger than even me, that his ability for control over himself was a skill that I envied even when he, as he had now, lost it and I witnessed the full extent of the pain that we both carried and did not dare to relinquish. But I could not bring myself to move. I could not bring myself to feel his fire while knowing just how unworthy I was of the warmth that he gave so freely. I could not help him. I could give him nothing, could do nothing, but stare in heartbroken anguish as the ruined flame of life lost himself within the beautiful pain kindled by the dance of death.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos are much appreciated! <333


End file.
